


Dreams and Nightmares

by jillyfae



Category: Dragon Age II, Dragon Age: Origins, Dragon Age: Origins - Awakening
Genre: F/F, F/M, Ficlet Collection, Gen, M/M, Multi, Prompt Fill, Tumblr
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-12-29
Updated: 2015-07-30
Packaged: 2017-11-22 20:42:45
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 41
Words: 13,608
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/614137
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jillyfae/pseuds/jillyfae
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Collected short!fic, mostly from art reblogs and prompts on <a href="http://faejilly.tumblr.com">tumblr.</a>  I'll try and put the pairing/brief explanation in the title of each chapter, so it's easy to find what you're looking for on the <a href="http://archiveofourown.org/works/614137/navigate">index</a> page. <3</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Nathaniel and Sigrun, archery lesson

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> [twistedsinews](http://twistedsinews.tumblr.com/) prompted: "DA:A Allowed? Because I could totally go for some Nate teaching Sigrun archery."
> 
> So that happened. BECAUSE SIGRUN. And Nate. :)

“You want what?” Nathaniel could feel his eyebrow lift as he stared at Sigrun’s face as she tilted back on her heels to smile at him.

“Archery lessons.  You know.  How to make the pointy end fly through the air and hit the ‘spawn before they’re close enough to hit back?  I think that sounds like fun.”

“Well, I’ve always …” Nathaniel trailed off.  Yes, he thought it was fun too.  But he’d never heard of a dwarf archer.  ”I’m not sure we have anything the …. right … size?”  He only barely managed not to mention the fact that he was pretty sure he owned bows taller than she was; he tended towards old-fashioned long bows rather than crossbows or short bows.  

Her smile broadened into a full grin, the flash of teeth bright in contrast to her brands.  ”Come on, don’t you have a little one from when you were in short pants?  Everyone’s gotta start somewhere.”

“I suppose Seneschal Varel might know where the old weapons from the armoury are stored …”  

She practically skipped down the hallway towards the Seneschal’s office.  He just sighed and followed.  It was useless to argue, after all.  No one else ever won against her.


	2. tranquil romance

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> [jathis](http://jathis.tumblr.com) prompted "tranquil romance"
> 
> There may have been some flailing involved. Jathis does great prompts. <3

She remembered that she'd once craved his touch, the two of them sneaking into storerooms or hiding behind bookshelves in search of a few blissful moments of privacy.

She remembered how she'd screamed, clawed at the arms of the Templars holding her when she'd seen the sunburst on his forehead.

But now she had one too, and neither of them craved anything, anymore.  Neither of them screamed, or clawed, or cried.

They still talked, during the day.  She could still appreciate his wit, the turn of his mind as they discussed their duties, the habits of the mages and Templars around them.

And at night, they would still find a quiet room alone, cool fingers brushing along smooth skin until muscles warmed, and tensed.  A body functioned better when it was properly sated.

Such a logical approach to sex seemed to make the rest of the Circle uncomfortable, however, so still they kept themselves hidden.  It was much easier, now, without stuttering heartbeats and flushing cheeks to give them away.


	3. Morrigan/Jowan

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> for [chignon](http://ms-chignon.tumblr.com)

Morrigan had no use for the weak or incompetent.

Meeting a man in jail for failing to either follow orders or break free on his own rather implied he was both.

And yet he followed them inside, after his friend told him to flee.

Morrigan did not understand Surana.  Didn’t think she ever would.  The elf despised blood magic, but was glad to see her friend, an admitted maleficar. Surana obviously enjoyed being free under the stars, endlessly looking around, asking questions, wanting more and more and even more, and yet she liked the almost Templar, asked him if he knew what to do ‘if something went wrong’ while they were traveling. 

Seemed more relieved than otherwise when he grudgingly admitted that he probably did.

Just another reason to avoid the idiot Warden.  Surana might not make much sense, but she wasn’t stupid.

And despite having been caught, having submitted time and time again to someone else’s power, Jowan obviously wasn’t either.  Not when he showed up again, and gave them another way to fight the demon.

She could respect him for that.  Almost admire a man who kept trying, no matter how many times everything went wrong.

She hoped she’d manage the same, when all her secrets finally came out.


	4. informal: Alistair, Zevran, Fenris, Sebastian

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This was originally for [Chenria's](http://chenria.tumblr.com) ficlet contest. I won a Sebastian bookmark. <3
> 
> Rather than attempting a proper story for any bookmark in particular, I wrote a 100-word-drabble for each character, because all four of them are splendid.
> 
> And look good with their shirts off... ^_~

**Alistair**

For someone who had never had much privacy, stables to Chantry to Wardens, Alistair was remarkably  _shy_. He turned his back when he had to change, ducked his head whenever someone else half-stripped by the campfire, tending to armour or clothing or minor wounds where there was room and light and company.  Blushed easily and often.

Except now, alone in an actual room for once, with walls and doors and drapes.  He stepped away to pull off his shirt, then looked over his shoulder, eyes dark and serious, devouring the view. Not shy, not here, not now. "Your turn, love."

**Zevran**

It wasn't difficult to see Zevran naked.  The elf was shameless in pretty much every meaning of the word.

Not that Aedan had much use for modesty.  And Zevran was such a pretty sight, after all.

But this time, his hands were almost trembling, his throat tight.

_Why am I nervous?_

He'd peeled Zevran's shirt off countless times himself, after all, hands on skin, tracing his tattoo with his mouth...

He shifted uncomfortably, his breeches tightening around his groin.   _Great.  Uncomfortable and nervous both, now._

But it was different now.

_Never thought I'd fall in love._

**Fenris**

Hawke had never seen such a soft look on Fenris' face.

Though that might have been the early morning light.  _Never seen him in that either._

It made it a little hard to breathe, though in a very good way, to see it now, the warmth along his skin, the gleam of his hair in the dim bedroom.

The morning after.  Fenris still here.  Fenris  _happy._

Fenris not wearing a shirt.

"Come back to bed, Fenris."

"If you insist."  He smiled, sweeter than the twist of his lips that was all he usually permitted himself.

Hawke grinned.  "Oh, I do."

**Sebastian**

Anyone who had known Sebastian as a youth was always startled at the sight of him in Chantry robes.

Anyone who'd known him as a Brother was equally started at the sight of him in armour.

Anyone who'd seen him blush at Hawke's or Isabela's indelicate manners was downright shocked at the apparent ease with which he wandered around without a shirt, no attempt to hide himself the time they'd gotten stuck on the Coast after a fight, waiting out a storm, and they'd all half-stripped to dry.

No one complained about the view.


	5. M!Hawke/Fenris, post-game reconciliation

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> for [sia](http://siawrites.tumblr.com) <3

"You let him go." Hawke closed his eyes and pretended it was suddenly three or four years ago, before everything started going so horribly, horribly wrong.

 

_Well, really, it all went horribly wrong about the time mother got pregnant with me, judging from the Grey Warden's records. Go me. Quality people skills, making every dire situation worse even before I was born._

Fenris shifted slightly, judging from the light scrape of armour Hawke could hear behind him. "Sebastian will never forgive you."

Hawke just shrugged, felt his fingers clench as he tried to decide if it was worth turning around.  _I don't give a damn about Sebastian; blithering Prince finally had his choice made for him, didn't he? I need to know if you'll forgive me, you stupid, perfect, frustrating elf._  Seeing Fenris scowl was usually positively delightful. In this particular instance, however, having said scowl aimed at him might be more than Hawke could handle.  _It has been a very long day._

"Hawke?" Fenris' voice was suddenly just the slightest bit closer, as if he'd stepped carefully along the bluff,  _almost touching? Please, Maker, can I touch him again? Just once, before I have to run?_  "Why?"

"How many times has he saved my life?"  _All our lives? The only reason anyone I love still walks here in the sun, rather than following Andraste past the Void._  "I couldn't take his."

"That doesn't mean you had to let him go."

"I let them all go free. Isabela offered her Captain-ing services for any mage who wanted to flee while the fleeing was good."  _Captaining? Is that even a word? Blast, I'm so tired I'm making up gibberish._  "I wasn't about to contradict her." Hawke rubbed at his forehead, feeling grit scratching against his skin, trying to remember the last time he'd been clean, the last time he'd slept,  _the last time I wasn't arguing with someone_.

He heard a rough exhale behind him, as if Fenris was as frustrated as he felt. That'd be... nice, actually.  _Misery loves company. I'm a right bastard nowadays, aren't i?_  "Why didn't you go with him?"

Hawke snorted. The silence behind him was somehow suddenly brittle, and he realized Fenris had been  _serious_ , actually thought Hawke would...

He couldn't stop herself anymore, and spun around to see the face that went with the husky voice. "Just because I couldn't kill him, and didn't particularly want to help him martyr himself, doesn't mean I'm glad he used me to start his rebellion now, does it?"  _Did you really think I'd condone blowing up innocent people? Really? That you, of all people, would think..._

Fenris took one slight step backwards, as if startled by something in Hawke's face or voice. "The cause..." he trailed off, eyes narrowing as if he was already changing his mind about whatever it was he'd started to say.

"Freedom for mages you mean?" Hawke threw up his hands and rolled his eyes. "Of course I want them free. I grew up free, be a right hypocrite if I didn't. I think everyone should be free. Every elf in every alienage, every slave in Tevinter. Doesn't mean I think lying to my so-called friends and exploding the Grand Cleric was the way to go about it!"

Fenris' eyes widened, his brows lifted a bit out of their former frown, but he didn't speak, and his weight was still shifted up on his toes as if ready to fight or flee at any moment. That was pretty standard for Fenris though, and Hawke sighed, trying to figure out what he was thinking.  _Made extra difficult as I don't actually know what I'm thinking anymore either._

"I've never lied to you, Fenris, and I've always tried to talk my way  _out_  of killing people, except, you know, when they're actively trying to get me to bleed out all over them. I generally take exception to that and make them bleed first."  _Something I thought we had in common?_

Surprisingly enough, that seemed to have been the right thing to say, as Fenris' shoulders loosened; he wasn't quite smiling, but it was, perhaps, closer to that expression than Hawke had seen in a good long while.  "You are quite... accomplished... at making them bleed first."

"Thank you," Hawke swallowed, feeling suddenly rather huge and bumbling and awkward and wanting to cough or shift his feet or something. "So are you?"

That one got an almost-chuckle. Hawke suddenly felt better than he had in  _years_.

"Come with me." He heard his voice blurt out, and almost winced as Fenris was immediately even more still than usual, eyes dark as he stared at Hawke.  _And there went the good mood, Maker, why do I never say the right thing?_  "Um. If you'd like to, that is, maybe?"

"Why?" That seemed to be Fenris' favorite word this evening, as they stood on the bluffs overlooking the smoking mess that used to be Kirkwall. Hawke still felt completely unequipped to answer it.

_Because I'm still in love with you, and even if you don't love me back, or don't want to love anyone ever, you're my best friend and I'd miss you?_ "'Cause I asked so nicely?"

"Stop it." Fenris' voice was even growlier than usual, which did wonderful unfortunate things to the muscles in his belly and the ache of his spine, before Hawke actually thought about the words and realized his charm was,  _as usual_ , less charming than he thought it was. "What do you think you're doing, Hawke?"

"Leaving." Hawke felt old, and heavy, and stopped trying to figure out what Fenris was talking about in order to be serious, just this once. "I cannot stay and endanger the livelihoods of my friends. Varric and Aveline and Donnic made Kirkwall their home, and I will not be the cause of them losing it. I would not wish to lose you either though."

"I was not aware you had me." Voice dry, rather than angry.  _That's a good sign. Probably._

"Hope springs eternal." Hawke shrugged, yet again, the fur around his shoulders rubbing softly against the back of his neck. "I miss you."

"But not the abomination?"

Hawke's eyebrows creased, a mish-mash of dark hair and creased skin right above his nose. "We may have been friends, once, but even that's been fading, as he pulled into himself, into his Vengeance. I can't be there for him, nor he for me."

"You gave him your key."

Hawke felt his brows lift, his nostrils flare; hope he hadn't realized he'd banked against his heart suddenly flaring back to life.  _Perhaps not doubt that he could try again, but a belief I'd moved on?_ "To the cellars, so he could get out of Darktown when he needed a quick escape." Hawke took one careful step forward, until there was barely a hands-breadth of air between them, his voice dropping to a low, rough murmur. "Certainly never to my bedroom. No one's been there since you left; no one besides the mabari, and one very stupid thief."

He was standing close enough he could see Fenris' nostrils flare at his proximity before his eyes flickered to the side, almost uncertain. A hint of a sigh, and then a slight curve of his lips. "Donnic mentioned the thief. He did sound remarkably dull-witted."

"And we both know I greatly prefer sharp and deadly," Hawke whispered, trying not to succumb to the urge to grin like an idiot as those eyes shifted yet again, a very quick glance at his mouth before meeting his gaze. "Would I suffer from the deadly if I tried to kiss you?"

Strong hands yanked at his hair, the lean line of the elf's body pressed as close as he could get with the awkward edges of two sets of armour in the way, the hard hot pressure of his lips against Hawke's mouth even better than he'd remembered.

 _Maker, yes, thank you,_  Hawke felt his thoughts rushing incoherently as he staggered against the sudden pressure, but then his feet steadied and he wrapped his arms around Fenris' shoulders, humming deep in his chest as he kissed back for all he was worth.

Eventually, though, he realized that he should probably remember to breathe, a bit, if he wanted to stay conscious long enough to manage more kisses later, and he lifted her head, pulling against fingers that had loosened, but were still pleasantly tangled in his hair.

"Is that a yes then?" His voice was raspy, nerves shivering down his arms and legs, heat pooling just about everywhere else.

"Where are we going?" Brows lifted, green eyes wide and dark, his voice soft against Hawke's skin.

"No idea. East-ish?"

Fenris' body eased in Hawke's arms, his head thrown back as he laughed, actually laughed, a sharp bark of amusement filling the air, echoed by his smile, a full and proper smile, his mouth spread wide and his eyes alight. "Good thing we both know how to travel light?"

"All I need is you," Hawke shrugged, feeling oddly bashful, resting his forehead against warm dusky skin. "And the dog, of course."

Fenris snorted. "Second place to the mabari, am I?"

"Not at all," Hawke smiled, shifting his head along the elf's forehead until he could whisper against the sensitive curve of Fenris' ear. "But he's very good at keeping watch while I'm...  _distracted_."

There was a growl low in Fenris' throat, the slightest catch in his voice as he spoke up. "Plan on being distracted, do you?"

"Hope." Hawke couldn't resist, leaning in just enough to taste the ear in front of him, to feel the shiver in Fenris' body at the light caress of his tongue. "I  _hope_  to be very, very distracted."

Fenris moved against his arms, oh so slightly backwards. Hawke felt that shift like a cold draft down his back, hope still fragile enough to flutter through his lungs, not sure if it was going to survive the night.  _Or the next minute_.

A shift of Fenris shoulders, and Hawke dropped his arms to his sides, the flutter in his lungs now sharp and uneven. He hadn't even realized he was clenching his jaw until he felt a thumb, carefully angled to avoid the edges of the gauntlet, gently stroke against the edge of his mouth.

"I look forward to it. But perhaps not on the bluff where everyone can see us?"

Hawke's tongue flicked out of his mouth, one quick taste of skin, before he grinned at Fenris. "But I do so like to put on a show."

"You are mine, now, Hawke," Fenris' hand slid down just enough to rest, fingers splayed against his neck. "And any future shows will be just between us."

"Hmm." Hawke had to swallow, a quick, tight motion against Fenris' hand, before he could manage more than a pleased hum. "Splendid idea. Yes. Going now?"

"Yes." Fenris agreed, and they turned and started walking.


	6. Isabela/Sebastian/Warrior F!Hawke

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> for twistedsinews during Threesome Week

It had been an awkward waltz they'd been dancing, through the years.  The pirate, the Brother, and the Champion.

Not that the pirate had a ship, or the Brother still had vows.  But no-longer-quite-a-rake-but-not-really-a-Brother was such a mouthful.

Not that she'd been a Champion when the dancing started.  Then she'd just been a refugee, hungry for coin and companionship, desperate to protect her sister.  But family died as the years had passed, and they'd fought together, and survived together.  They drank too much and lost too many people and spent way too much time at cards, and there was something there, something more, but none of them would admit it.

Not aloud anyway.  It was easy to see, to those who looked, the way fingers reached out a bit too often, heads tilted a bit too close, chairs always pushed together.

The pirate, of course, tried to flirt with both of them, admiring the flash of blue eyes, the warmth of dark skin and strong muscles.   _It's only sex, sweet-things_ , her voice would purr, but no one believed her.  Even she knew it was more than that, and was both relieved and disappointed by her continuing lack of success.  

Neither the Brother nor the Champion flirted back.  

The former was attempting to hold to his vows, no matter how broken.  Despite his charms, his ability to handle politicians and prostitutes, the Champion and the pirate could always make him blush.  Those blue eyes lingered a bit too long, his brogue thick and slow whenever he spent too much time with them.  But he'd  never let either get a step too close, as if afraid of what he might want to do, with the scent of their skin against him.  He recognized every attempt to suggest he succumb, and gently pushed them away.

The latter, however... had never recognized a flirtation in her life.  And when the pirate resorted to blatant proposition, the Champion apparently decided that it was all a joke, and threatened to hit her with her broadsword if she didn't stop it.

 _I didn't think it was possible, to be worse at romance than the Guard Captain,_  the dwarf once muttered into his notes.  Luckily neither the Champion nor the Captain heard him, though the elf snorted appreciatively into his cup of wine.

But then, oh then, the end of the world.  Of Kirkwall, at least, fire and death and blood.   _So much blood._

It should have been the end of them, as well, a potential flirtation, too fragile to survive the collapse of stone and walls and people.  Somehow, instead, it was finally a beginning.  

The pirate stole a ship, and sailed them up the Minanter, to claim the definitely-not-even-a-little-bit-a-Brother-anymore's old home.  The Champion, in close quarters with two rogues who weren't actually scared of her, ( _unlike the rest of the Marches, after stories of Arishoks and bombs_ ), and both wanted to touch, finally realized that no, it had never been a joke.

It took a while, to get her out of her plate, to make her put down her sword, to unwind her braids, and smooth the tightness out of her shoulders and back.  The four hands trying to soothe her did, rather often, get distracted with each other, after all.  Which may possibly have been what finally eased the Champion completely, watching dusky skin and nimble fingers, gentle lips savoring each other.  And her.  And finally, finally, ( _six years is a very long time to wait_ ), there was nothing but skin, blue eyes and brown, wordless sighs and contented purrs, and the realization that three hearts had no desire to lose the warmth they'd found.

They steered right clear of Starkhaven, wandered their way back to a proper sea port, where the pirate traded and the rake charmed and the Champion intimidated, and they found their way into a bigger, better boat, with a Captain's Quarters full of silk and pillows that was big enough for three, even with an armor stand full of Champion plate and sword in the corner.

And every once in a while the dwarf or the Captain would get a note or a package, leather boots or leather whips, as the pirate never lost her sense of humour, and the rake helped the Champion develop hers, but never again did the trio find their way back to Kirkwall.

Not when they had a full wide world to explore.


	7. drabble: Alistair, Zevran, get back on the horse

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> 100 words for maybethings

He didn’t like the assassin.

But the elf with the tattoos and the dual-blades and the ready grin had rather grown on him, even when he was swearing in antivan and making rude gestures, and Alistair was smart enough to know he couldn’t have one without the other.

Besides, if he ever got back onto the damn horse, they might eventually make it to Denerim, and then maybe Alistair could convince him to assassinate Loghain, ( _and hopefully do a better job than he did with us_ ), and then he’d like assassins too.

_Maker grant us the blood of our enemies._


	8. observation, Merrill/Athenril

Athenril reminded Merrill a little of Marethari.  Not in any motherly way,  _oh no, not in the least_ , that twist in her stomach had nothing to do with family and everything to do with heat, but in the grace of her hands, and the way her power settled so comfortably on her shoulders.  The way she inspired loyalty in those around her, the way she so clearly kept her people in her thoughts.

Even Hawke, after she’d left the gangs, judging from the way they caught each others’ eyes outside The Rose.  Athenril still kept track.

_Is that why Marethari is staying, even now I’ve left?  I hope it’s not.  I will miss them, but they need to go …_

Merrill shook her head.  Even in Hightown, it was generally a bad idea to stop paying attention.  Especially at dusk, when anything could be in any shadow, and anyone could be backlit by the sun until it was an instant too late to act.  She shifted on her feet, listening to the laughter and light spilling out of the wide double doors across the court as they swung open and closed with the foot traffic.

This human city was sometimes so beautiful, even in it’s dirt, and chaos, and pain, the smooth lines of stone, the gold and red of sunset, hints of perfume and leather and armor and even incense drifting through the air all the way from the Grand Cathedral.

Athenril, though, was beautiful all on her own, no caveats of time or light required to highlight the tilt of her chin and the curve of her neck, the way her voice could switch from soft as halla fur to hard as ironbark with barely a breath between, and never a shift in her cool gaze.

Athenril never lost what made her an elf, even surrounded as she was by humans; even embracing the human underworld, she’d made their power her own, rather than letting them take it from her.

Merrill could only pray to the long silent gods that she’d manage to be so successful.


	9. Merrill meets Alistair and asks a bunch of questions (for maybethings)

“Do you like being a Warden?”

“Is it exciting?”

“Do you meet nice people?  Minus the darkspawn, of course.”

“When were you last in Ferelden?”

“Have you been to the Brecilian?”

“Really?”

“Did you meet the Grand Oak? I always liked the Oak.  We weren’t supposed to bother him, but I thought he made the nicest rhymes.”

“Do you really know Isabela?  Do you like her? ‘Course you like her, who doesn’t like Isabela?”

“Well, besides Castillon, of course.  But I don’t like him either.  And I like you.  You seem nice.  And very good with that shield.  I don’t know anyone besides Aveline who’s so good with a shield.”

“Doesn’t it hurt an awful lot when someone hits it?  Aveline always just shakes her head when I ask her that.”

“Yes!  Just like that! You do it too!”

“Is the Archdemon really like a High Dragon?  We fought a High Dragon, after all.  And we didn’t even die.  Quite.  Of course she didn’t have darkspawn.  There were an awful lot of dragonlings though.”

“No, I’ve never heard their claws on ice.  That does sound  unpleasant.  Sand and rock was bad enough.”

“Why, yes, I’d love a snack.  Toasted bread with cheese? That sounds lovely.”


	10. Athenril/Tallis

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "blood in the water" via [dragon age drabbles](http://dragonagedrabbles.tumblr.com/post/38314231912/athenril-tallis)

Blood brought sharks.

Literally, of course.

On land as well as sea.

No one ever mistook Athenril for some harmless bystander, no matter how soft her voice or quiet her steel.

She recognized the same danger in the elf who came a’courting Hawke for a ticket to the Orlesian’s party.

But Hawke had cut all ties with Athenril and her gang, so all she could do was watch as the red-headed elf smiled, and the dwarf shrugged, and Hawke walked away into a trap.

Being Hawke though, Athenril was pretty sure the smiling elf’s trap would be less effective than she intended.

Maybe she’d even get part of the story out of the dwarf, when they returned.

Maybe part of it would even be true.


	11. Failure, cw: references sexual assault

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Once upon a time, many many months ago, my darling Sapphy prompted me for something a bit less happy than my usual fluff/smut repertoire, dealing with "recreational use of magic" and drawing the attention of the Templars. So here you go. Finally.

He clenched his hands behind his back, fingers so tightly interlaced they ached, jaw clenched so hard he was afraid he might crack his teeth.  He wouldn’t move.  Wouldn’t speak.

They were twins.  Same hair, same eyes.

Same impossible knack for fire and ice from their hands.

Running together, away from their parents before anyone had found out what they really were.  They’d lasted a good few years on the road so far, always moving, trusting no one but themselves.

He’d been the one who’d tried to call fire to warm their apples, just a little, just enough to ease the chill of the damp wind through the trees.

She’d been the one who’d laughed and made lights dance to cheer him up when he failed, their food a smear of sticky ash on the ground after the flare of flame had died.

She was the one the templars had grabbed.

He saw the smirk in the eyes of the templar who had his hands around her, the way his grip lingered too close to the curve of hips and breasts.

He knew what they were going to do to her once they were alone.  She was only a mage.   _An apostate._   She didn’t count.

Unless he did something.

Unless he made them count.

But their leader had taken off his helm, had fixed dark cold eyes on his face, and had ordered him to leave them to their duty.

If he did anything, they’d just take him too, and probably take his attempted rebellion out on her as well.

He bowed his head, refusing to listen to his sister swearing and struggling as they carried her away, refusing to hear the templar’s dark chuckle before it was drowned out by the clank of heavy plate.

Trying not to feel the fire in his stomach, the ice in his heart, the throbbing in his head, the ragged edge to every breath through his mouth.  Trying not to imagine what was going to happen that night, when the templars made camp and took off their armor.

_Was it just the one, or would they take turns?_

He held himself still until the last faint echo of heavy bootsteps faded away.  He staggered slowly off the path, falling to his knees, losing his lunch behind the bushes.  He heaved until there was nothing left, the burn of bile making his throat ache almost as much as his gut.

Nothing he could do.  Never anything he could do.

He was light-headed when he finally got to his feet again, feeling fragile and hollow enough he was afraid the damp wind still blowing through the trees would knock him over.  
  
But it didn’t.  So he started walking again.  
  
Alone.


	12. Unacceptable, Merrill/Isabela, au!meme, pretending to be married

“No elves upstairs.  Common room only.” The innkeep barely even looked up, his voice a bored drawl.  ”We got one garret room left if you’re interested though.”  He flicked a finger in Isabela’s general direction, as if it wasn’t already clear which one of them could have the room.  ”No fireplace, but you’re next to the chimney so it’s plenty warm.”

“I would never be warm without my wife by my side.”  Isabela kicked Merrill’s ankle, managing to be quick enough her squeak of surprise could’ve been from pain.  ”Oh, I’m so sorry beloved.”  She gave the elf a hug, whispering a quick ‘shh’ in her ear before turning back to the ‘keep.  ”I guess we’ll just have to see if someone else is more willing to accept our coin.”

“Aren’t spare rooms nowhere on market night.”

“We shall see.”  She turned and started walking slowly towards the door, waiting for greed to make him crack.  

“Cost y’extra.”

“For a private room for two?”  Isabela turned around again, leaning across the bar to speak quietly.  ”I expect room service, too, so no one has to see you’re giving us special treatment?”

His grunt of agreement was, perhaps, a little sour.  But he almost smiled, as if he rather enjoyed the bargaining.  ”Stew, bread, and ale’s all we got.”

“Sounds delightful.”  Isabela gripped his hand hard when they shook, grinning at him with a wink when they both let go.  ”Shall we, my dear?”

Merrill followed silently, mouth tight and footsteps silent, as if afraid to speak up and ruin the performance.

Right up until the door shut behind them.

“Does that make this our wedding night?” Merrill whispered loudly, her tongue almost caught between her teeth.

“Of course not, Kitten,” Isabela laughed, “that was just a story to give the ‘keep an excuse to pretend he’s not a rat bastard.”

“Well, not for real,” Merrill managed to roll her eyes and blush and fidget all at the same time.  ”But shouldn’t we pretend? To help with the story?”

“Really?” Isabela couldn’t decide whether to laugh or purr or drag them both to the bed to see what would happen next.  ”Whatever did you have in mind?”

Merrill pounced quite like the kitten Isabela had always named her, slim small hands wrapped around Isabela’s neck as she pulled her head down for a kiss full of quick flicks of her tongue and warm wet lips, until she fell back down on her heels with a shivering sort of sigh and wide questioning eyes.  ”We should definitely be naked by the time dinner arrives?”

 _Bed it is then._ “That is a splendid idea.”


	13. Nathaniel and Sigrun, "unbind me"

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> drabble meme prompt from [twistedsinews](http://twistedsinews.tumblr.com)

“Nathaniel?”

Nathaniel resisted the urge to squirm.  This was going to be very difficult to explain.

Sigrun coughed slightly and leaned against the door frame, her distressingly cheerful grin just as bright and not quite annoying as usual.  Well.  Maybe it was annoying this time.  

“A little help, please?” He managed not to sound like he was going to chew off someone’s arm.  That was good.  Wait until it was the right someone.

“I don’t know, what if the Commander thinks you need to be tied up for awhile?”  The grin deepened, and how had he never noticed she had dimples before?  ”I might get in trouble if I let you go.”

“Oh, the Commander had nothing to do with this.  And you’re not the one in trouble.”

“Really?” Sigrun practically hopped into the room, closing the door behind her and settling on the desk, chin propped up on her hands.  ”Tell me all about it?”

Nathaniel lifted his brows, and glanced down at the ropes around his wrists.

Sigrun just grinned yet again, and waited.


	14. saarebas

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "Prompt: Qunari Mage with a Tranquil BAM" — [jathis](http://jathis.tumblr.com)

It waited.  Standing there, smooth, calm, unworried.

As if it had found its place.  Like no one else  _saarebas_  had seen in this place, it was strong in its purpose.  It had forsaken the illusions of choice and independence.  It had accepted the truth of duty.

It might, perhaps, be worthy of respect.


	15. Merrill/Isabela, not so innocent

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> for [anthologyofwhat](http://anthologyofwhat.tumblr.com)

She knew Isabela had thought her innocent, at first.  Dalish did tend to assume  _relations_  meant intimacy, and discouraged casual sex amongst the unmarried young adults.

But she had been First. She was never going to marry, never going to tie one person’s life to hers as more important than the rest of the clan.  She had a different path to walk.

Unfortunately, while not as innocent as Isabela thought, she was certainly ignorant of exactly how one should go about convincing a  _shem_ , even a warm and lovely and giving one like Isabela, that she wished quite strongly to see her naked.

She wasn’t quite sure what body shots were, but she had a feeling they might help ease that conversation along.


	16. Jowan, second chances

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> for [chignon](http://ms-chignon.tumblr.com)

He’d been given a second chance and he’d squandered it.

A third and a fourth, even, depending on how you wanted to count such things.

And yet. He still wanted more.

He knew, if he hadn’t been a mage, he wouldn’t have needed them at all, and it burned, and it ached, that his life was such a disaster not just because he was so very good at taking the wrong turn, but that he’d been set in a dark forest to begin with, with never any clear way out.

Maybe, as Levyn, he’d finally found a path that wouldn’t hurt anyone else.

Maybe, he could finally do some good.


	17. Nathaniel/Sigrun, foot massage

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> for [hot-elf](http://hot-elf.tumblr.com).

She had broad feet, and like the rest of her they were both strong and curvy, high arches and rounded heels and wiggly toes.

They were also incredibly ticklish, so if he didn’t keep his fingers very firm and slow, she’d start giggling and kicking.

If he managed it, by the time he was done giving her a foot massage she was a limp pile of dwarf slumped across the couch or the bed, and it was remarkably entertaining to kiss and lick his way up her legs, listening to her purr and moan as he went.

If he didn’t manage it, and she started laughing, and he started dodging her feet, they usually managed to roll off the bed or the couch and thud across the floor until he could take shameless advantage of being almost twice her height and pin her beneath him and kiss her until she stopped giggling.

Of course, Sigrun’s laugh was really quite delightful, so sometimes he’d go right back to tickling her so he could do it all over again.


	18. Tranquil!Jowan/Merrill

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> [jathis](http://jathis.tumblr.com) makes the best crack and/or tranquil prompts. _The Best._

While it wasn’t something he  _cared_  about in any sort of way anymore, he could observe the difference between the conversations of those around him, and the way people spoke to him or any of the other Tranquil.  There was tension in their eyes, discomfort, frequently, in their tone and their body language.  

It was important to remember how to observe their emotions, even when you no longer had them yourself, so you could attempt to predict their behavior.

So you could keep yourself safe.

Some Tranquil had trouble learning this, learning how to watch for which people would try to use them in ways that were illogical or physically painful, to serve their own ends rather than the needs of the Circle.

Jowan had found it easy, however.  He was much better at it now, than he’d been before he received the brand.  He could think back on his friends,  _from before_ , and see all the ways they’d tried to help him, all the ways they’d cared that he’d never noticed, too busy worrying about himself and his ever narrowing field of choices.

He thought he would’ve been much happier, then, if he’d just let it happen as it would.  Perhaps not fate, he didn’t really find much to believe in in fate, so very unreasonable, but inevitable nonetheless.  His emotions had never made him strong.  

He was better without them.

But still.

It was intriguing, when he met the small dalish elf, that she spoke to him just as she spoke to everyone else, words pouring off her tongue, hands moving delicately through the air to emphasize a phrase or a thought or a laugh.

She laughed easily, a light sound, pleasant to the ears.

He rather thought she was pretty, in a purely aesthetic sense.

He found it odd that he spent quite some time considering that question, for no other reason than he liked to watch the way the sun caught in her hair, and her eyes.

He had not wanted to serve in Kirkwall, but he’d been assigned as Ser Cullen’s body-servant on the trip, and apparently everyone had decided it was easier to keep him here in the Gallows than find a way to send him back to Kinloch Hold.

That didn’t seem like such a bad decision, now that he had met Merrill.


	19. Isabela/Nathaniel, It takes one to know one

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> owlmoose's prompt on the DAKB: "rogues"

"Oh, and don't you look pretty in blue?"   
  
Nathaniel coughed, trying not to stare too incredulously at the lovely  _deadly?_  pirate stalking around Hawke and headed right towards him. He had been many things in his life, heir and archer and lost and found, and a Warden for several years now, but he was rather sure 'pretty' had never been one of them.  
  
"I bet you look even prettier when you take all that blue off, now don't you?" Her smile widened as she leaned in closer, the brush of her breasts against his arm probably the sort of thing that distracted most men from the light brush of fingers against his belt-pouch.  
  
He grabbed her wrist and raised an eyebrow at her.   
  
"Can't blame a girl for trying, now can you?"  
  
"Of course I can." It was very difficult to keep a straight face at the mock despair that curved her lips. Plus the breasts really were quite remarkable, especially so very close up. "Give me a reason not to?"  
  
Her frown switched to a grin almost faster than he could blink, and she rocked up on her toes, leaning her weight against him and pressing her lips to his, warm then hot and soft then firm and just the slightest flick of her tongue as she leaned back on her heels.  
  
"There's more where that came from, my pretty. I have always been such a fan of Warden stamina." She winked as his fingers loosened, and she blew him another kiss as she walked away.  
  
He hadn't even gotten her name.


	20. a wolf in sheep's clothing, Sebastian & Tallis

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> from a [prompt](http://dragonagedrabbles.tumblr.com/post/45842623059/sebastian-vael-tallis) via the Dragon Age Pairing Generator.

She’d thought Sebastian mostly harmless, an archer in shining white, a quiet voice behind Hawke’s every move, willing to stay behind with her brother as they entered the estate.

He’d thought Tallis a safe enough companion, interested enough in her treasure to be trusted at Hawke’s side, to be trusted to follow through with the plan so she’d achieve her goal.

They were both wrong; neither of them were remotely safe or harmless, however well they smiled.


	21. sharp edges, F!Tabris/Zevran

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> [may](http://maybethings.tumblr.com) asked "If you are taking prompts: [loving the broken ones] [tabris] [zevran]"
> 
> And I am always taking prompts. So this happened.

Alistair had been startled to learn about a wedding, a marriage interrupted, and had trouble hiding the awkward shuffle of his feet, the clenching of his hands, had clearly felt too large and broad and male _,_  deep inside the alienage, trespassing in the one small corner of the world that was not his in a way he’d probably never even known before.

_Humans._

Zevran though, he recognized a home, and the cracks in another’s soul, and was startled to realize he wanted nothing more than to soothe her sharp edges with his words, and his hands, and his heart, rather than just his heat shared within her bedroll.


	22. Rain, F!Cousland/Nathaniel Howe, NSFW

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> [emby](http://spiritofemby.tumblr.com) prompted: "Oh god you did prompts. Jilly you will regret this. >

Her father called her Pup, but he thought her more of a cat, mysterious and lithe, dark hair shining as she tilted her head and smiled, just a little, as if she knew secrets that she would never share.

He kissed her once, before his father sent him away, huddled under a tree to escape the rain, her lashes glinting as the drops caught in them reflected the warm grey light around them.

Her tongue flicked out, one quick taste of his lips as they drew apart and he knew, just like a cat, she’d stolen his heart as her due, and given nothing at all of herself in return.

***

He wanted to hate her.  

He failed at that, as he had at so many other things.

For once he did not regret his failure, especially the night the rain came, a sudden summer squall catching them in the courtyard, and she tilted her head back with a laugh, letting the rain catch in hair and eyelashes, not even shivering as it trailed down her neck and under her collar.

She stayed that way until the hard fall of water stopped, and then turned towards him with a smile.  A smile that faded as his breath caught, remembering the last time he’d seen the spangle of light caught in water ringing her eyes.

He wasn’t sure which of them moved first, but they only stopped when they hit the wall of the Keep itself, her mouth on his, his lips on hers, her hands caught against his chest, his fingers digging into arse, pulling her closer, ever closer, their bodies pressed tight together.

The sudden bite of her teeth around his lip made him gasp, and she stepped back, and her hips swayed and if she had a tail he was sure it would be lashing, and then suddenly she smiled,  _a cat in the cream sort of smile,_  and she lifted her brows and turned around and he followed her to her room.

She never said a word, never let him speak either, nothing beyond the rough ache of her name in his throat as she rode him, hard, again and again ‘til his whole body ached and there was nothing he loved as much as her, as the feel of her skin beneath his hands and the taste of her slick on his tongue and the way her whole body arched when he made her come, as many times as she let him until he passed out on her bed, wrapped around her, so tired he couldn’t feel his own bones, and thought perhaps she’d worn him down to nothing but skin and dreams.

He would have thought it was a dream when he woke alone, but he was still in her bed, in her room, the sun splashing across his face through a gap in her drapes.

Her empty room.  

She was gone.  

Not just her, but her armor, her clothes, the small chest of secrets and tools she never opened, not even for him.  There was a note on the mantel that smelled of the flowers of her soap, brushed with the red of the balm she used on her lips, as if she’d kissed the folded parchment goodbye rather than him.

_If I could, I would’ve stayed for you, Nathaniel.  But I can’t.  You’ll be a splendid Warden-Commander in my place.  Don’t let the King and Queen push you around.  I’ll miss you._

He almost threw it in the fire when he was done, the coals still hot enough to burn away all but the memories and ash.  His fingers convulsed instead of letting go, the crinkle of the note as it was crushed louder than his heart-beat, harsher than his breath.  He made himself think about that breath, about the beat of his heart, until both had steadied, slow and even, and then he carefully smoothed the parchment out again, and folded it slowly, so very slowly, until it was small enough to fit inside the lining of his belt, the safest place he knew.

He dressed, and made himself go outside to speak to the Seneschal.


	23. Busted, Oghren & Zevran

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> prompted by [may](http://maybethings.tumblr.com)

"Is that …  _tea?_ "  Zevran had to smile as Oghren just grunted, scowling down into a mug that was, apparently, not full of ale.

"Is that …  _her tea?_ ”

At that Oghren raised his eyebrows, one quick glance off to the side towards their fearless leader’s tent.  He almost looked  _afraid_ , if dwarves admitted to such things.

Zevran carefully swallowed a laugh.  He wouldn’t be able to use this later, if he scared Oghren off now.  "Don’t worry, my short friend, I won’t tell her.  For now."  His smile widened as Oghren aimed his scowl up at him before glaring back into his mug with a grunt, and Zevran sauntered off towards the campfire, whistling softly as he went in search of some breakfast of his own.

There had to be something that could be done about a sober tea thief.  He just had to wait for the best,  _worst?_ , possible moment.  He could do that.  He knew all about the importance of timing.


	24. snow, Shale & Wynne

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> prompted by [nerdycookies](http://anthologyofwhat.tumblr.com)

She glared into the shadow of her face visible in the window, the tinge of blue clearly part of her skin, not the reflection;  _if I were still stone, there would be none of this cold and blue and shivering._

She glanced back at the woman behind her, stooped just a little beneath the weight of her cloak, the fur ringing her face only slightly darker than her hair.   _If I were still stone, I would not have learned to be her friend, to value someone who is no longer an it, to be glad to have found a place to go, a fire waiting for us just inside …_ the dwarf snorted,  _and why am I lingering in the snow?,_ shook her head, and pushed open the door of the Inn.


	25. fumble, Sebastian/Cullen

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> [blackthirteen](http://blackthirteen.tumblr.com) requested an 'awkward removal of templar armor' around about the same time I got an anonymous request for Sebastian/Cullen ... so this happened. (Someday there might be more. Or some explanation of how they got here ... maybe.)

There were hands, someone else’s hands,  _the hands,_  hands he’d been attempting not to think about for years, pulling off his armor, piece by piece, struggling and stumbling as Cullen interrupted his progress to pull him into a kiss, a moan against skin and the press of lips and the loss of breath and he wanted skin, everywhere, and he wished fleetingly he’d worn robes today instead of full plate, because then he could just push the fabric aside and loosen the ties of his mail and breeches and be free.

Free to touch, free to fuck, free to feel this heat and satisfy this need that had burned under his skin for longer than he could admit.

Instead a greave clanged against his boot, and he swore softly at the sound, bright and loud enough to mean they’d probably managed to dent something.  Luckily not his foot.

"Shit," a whisper against his neck as the weight of a forehead settled against his jaw.  "That was very smooth and romantic, wasn’t it, dropping your armor all over you."

Cullen hadn’t meant to laugh, really, there’d been a singularly desperate edge to Sebastian’s voice, an edge that made Cullen’s chest ache and his skin burn, but he couldn’t help it.  "And here I thought I’d be the one fumbling all over the place."

"I’ve never once seen you so much as stub your toe," Sebastian’s hands gave up on gripping armor or shoulders, warm and gentle against Cullen’s jaw as he lifted his head, his mouth just the slightest bit too far away to kiss again.  "Never a misstep or a stumble, not when it matters."

There was something in his eyes, that ridiculous blue dim and soft in the shadowed room.  This mattered.  To the both of them.

Cullen reached up to wrap his fingers around Sebastian’s hand, slowly pulled it to his side, twisting until they found the edge he wanted.  "Start with this one.  Less likely to pull on the rest and drop things."

Sebastian’s lips curved, just barely enough for Cullen to see the smile, and then he leaned in, another kiss, soft and warm, eyes closed as their hands moved together, slowly this time, piece by piece.


	26. Surprise! Fenris/Isabela/F!Hawke

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> for [dreadwulf](http://dreadwulf.tumblr.com) on her birthday

Whispering voices.

Laughter.

A double set of footsteps.

Fenris lifted his head, only realizing as his neck stretched that he’d been clenching his jaw in concentration.  Her permitted himself a soft sigh, a tilt of the head and a shift along his chin to ease the tension before his uninvited guests figured out where he was.

 _For such talented thieves and fighters, they are really quite_ loud _sometimes._

Perhaps even frequently.

His lips curved into a smile.  He enjoyed encouraging them to be loud, in certain circumstances.

It was odd to have such enjoyable memories to fill in between his thoughts.  

Good odd, most definitely.  But still sometimes disconcerting.

His smile widened, even as his eyebrows lifted when they tumbled through the doorway, Isabela carrying wine bottles, Hawke with a covered tray of some sort that she was using both hands to keep level in front of her.

"Many happy returns of the day!" Hawke grinned, sliding the heavy glass platter to the table beside his chair, narrowly avoiding the book he’d set down when he heard them approaching.

"And what day is that?"  Fenris reached out a hand to lift the cover, only to have Hawke swat at his fingers.

"Well, we can’t ever celebrate your birthday. Or even your Name Day."  Hawke looked almost desolate at that, eyes wide and mouth drooping.

She even sniffed.

Isabela rolled her eyes, her smile just the slightest quirk of her lips, unusually soft and sympathetic.

He wasn’t sure if the smile was aimed at him because Isabela also felt bad that he had no idea when he was born or Named, or she was just apologizing for Hawke’s dreadful over-acting.

"So you’re wishing me a happy probably not a birthday?"

Isabela laughed, but Hawke’s face slid unexpectedly to something almost serious, her smile gone with a slow blink of her eyes before she shook her head.

"It’s our anniversary.  The day we met, in the Alienage. The only proper day I could keep track of, for us."  She shrugged, ever so slightly, almost shy, as her voice trailed off into silence.

Fenris blinked.  She was right.  Six years to the day … 

How things had changed, since then.  Kirkwall.  Champion. Pirate. 

And him.  How he had changed.  He wasn’t sure who he had been six years ago would remotely recognize the elf he was now, reading by a fire, two women he could trust by his side, in his bed, in his heart.

He didn’t know what to say in the face of that reminder, of everything he’d gained.  Of everything they were to him.  

Instead he leaned up, until his hand could rest against Hawke’s cheek, and he pulled her close enough to kiss, to share her breath, her warmth, her lips, to close his eyes and swallow her sigh and savor the impossible perfection of his life.

He heard the slap as he felt Hawke startle, and they both turned to look at Isabela, who grinned, all innocence, as if she hadn’t just smacked Hawke’s arse.  "Not that I don’t enjoy a good show, sweet things, but I’m hungry, and Hawke wouldn’t let me even peek before we got here."

"Orana made it, not me, so it’s probably good enough to be worth the wait."  

"What is?"

"Why, our anniversary pie, of course.  Plus some particularly dusty bottles from the wine cellar."

"And then we can get back to all the kissing."  Isabela nodded, rubbing her hands together as Hawke lifted the cover to reveal the crust, a hint of glazed sugar on top catching in the light.

"Excellent plan." Fenris agreed seriously.   _They brought me pie. Just because they could._

"Which bit?"  Isabela grinned again, both of them only half paying attention to their conversation, half watching Hawke move, watching her cut slices through the crisp golden crust.

"All of it."

_All of you, both of you._


	27. Seneschal Bran

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> this isn't quite a fic, but it got more of a response than most proper stories I write ... and also it made me laugh.

[yarnandtea](http://yarnandteaisallineed.tumblr.com/post/55358400195/one-day-if-i-manage-to-get-truly-motivated-i):

> One day, if I manage to get truly motivated, I would like to write the story of DA2 from Seneschal Bran’s perspective. 
> 
> Because you know that sassy snarky fucker had to have some amusing opinions on how all that shit went down.

Once Upon a Time, or really, all the time, I am surrounded by idiots and I have too much work to do, go bother some one else for stories about that damned Fereldan Upstart. Should’ve known, anyone related to an _Amell_ was going to be trouble.

The dwarf. Really. Ask the dwarf, he always has time to tell stories and drink ale, and I have Other Things To Do. Shoo. No, I don’t care that you’re a Seeker, do you know how to repair centuries old stonework sewers? No? Do you want to learn? No again? Really?

Then I need you to leave. Yes. Now. Thank you. Good luck. Try the Hanged Man. Can’t miss it. Just keep going down the stairs and then follow the smell.

Trust me, you’ll know what smell.


	28. timing, Merrill & Isabela

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> loquaciousquark requested Merril/anyone, Time Travel AU
> 
> and then apparently I made her sad
> 
> Which, it being Quark, rather made me snort at the irony.
> 
> (I should not archive fic this late at night, I'm making weird notes out of punchiness, sorry.)

Well, obviously, she thought they’d go  _back_ , to Arlathan, to learn of history and power and memory.

But when she stepped through the rebuilt  _eluvian,_  she took but two steps before she staggered, hands pressed to her chest, her throat, aching and empty,  _mana, gone,_  and when she reached for more it bruised, deep inside, the border to the Beyond too thick and solid to permit her touch.

Isabela whistled softly, looking out to sea,  _Isabela always finds the sea._ "Have you ever heard of that, Kitten?"

Merrill blinked, and forced herself to look as well, to see impossible ships, white and shining, moving without sails or oars, one with towers like the Foundry, a hint of smoke escaping out the top.

This was not her people’s past.

This was like nothing she’d ever imagined.


	29. free, Merrill/Isabela, NSFW-implied

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> merribela prompted by [kyeshgall](http://faejilly.tumblr.com/post/69422569388)

Isabela laughed, low and soft, at the tickle of green sliding along her ribs.  She bit her lip in appreciation at the brush of a leaf along her breast, the faintest tease against her nipple as the vine it was on slowly stopped moving.  It was surprisingly enticing, watching the shift of light between Merrill’s fingers, the steady focus of her eyes, the clench of her toes in the dirt as she teased her magic through the plants she’d called from beneath the ground.

And of course it felt spectacular, slow and soft, the occasional sharp edge of a thick stem as the vines twisted and spiraled around her arms and legs, cool and green against the dark of her skin.

She couldn’t help the hum low in her throat, let it go as a low soft laugh.  ”I might have to change your nickname kitten.  At this rate, I’m going to be the one who’s purring.”

Merrill flashed a smile at her, sweet and pleased and wonderfully heated as the magic faded from the air between them.  ”That’s ever such good news.  You purr very nicely.”

Isabela laughed again, shifting her weight against the vines around her, feeling them give easily against her skin. “You sure you’re done?  Usually the point of ropes and knots is that they’re tight.  I could slip right out of these.”

"Oh." Merrill’s eyes went even wider than usual, a feat that always startled, just a little,  _wide and white and green and endless,_ implausibly pretty.  ”But I enjoy how free you are, that’s why I like you so very very much.”  She shrugged, and Isabela almost laughed again, until she felt Merrill lean closer, the heat of her breath a tease against Isabela’s ears as her voice dropped to a whisper.  ”I like knowing that you could leave, and don’t.  That no matter what I do to you, you choose to let me.”

Isabela swallowed down a throat gone oddly tight, and closed her eyes at the feel of Merrill’s fingers trailing down her breasts, her stomach, at the cool rush of magic and the slow slide of a vine up between her legs.

Merrill was right.

She wasn’t going anywhere.


	30. weakness, Coraline Amell

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> prompted by [phdfan](http://phdfan.tumblr.com), inspired by Erika's headmorph of Coraline, the poor dear: _Asthenophobia - fear of weakness_

A mage could not be weak.  That way lay madness, led to demons and blood and sorrow.

But everyone was weak, sometimes.  Weren’t they?

Wasn’t her very life proof of that?  A mage-born child to a family that knew its blood was touched with magic, and did not strive to curb the tide of sin throughout their line.

She would just have to be different then.  Permit no doubt, no compromise.  There would be no bending of the rules, not for friendship, not for desire, no matter how hard the beat of her heart in the darkness, how tight the knot of need in her stomach that caught her breath and broke her heart, over and over again.

She could not bear the thought of it, of blood on her hands, of the dark stain on her soul, even worse than the burden of her magic itself.

She would not bend.

Not to anyone.

Not for anything.


	31. hands, Sebastian/Cullen, nsfw

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Once upon a time, I had an anonymous prompt request for some Sebastian/Cullen. And it languished in my drafts for ever so long, because awkward middle, (and that one is actually still in my drafts, tbqh), but then disposableprose mentioned cuddling/sexy/happy times, and this happened instead? (And yes, it was pulled from the same rough draft that inspired 'fumble', so there are a few similarities. Oops.

There are hands, gauntlets off, knuckles and fingertips raw, hanging limply by the Knight-Captain’s side, as if they’ve had to lift too many things of late, sword and shield and stone and sorrow, and now aren’t even sure how to touch anything at all, not without leaving blood behind.

Sebastian’s own hands look clean and soft in comparison, though he can’t quite contain the shiver in his arms, recognizing the weight of the things his own hands have done, or not done, consequences he’ll never be able to wash away like he scrubbed out the blood beneath his nails.

So many choices he can never undo.

So many chances lost.

All that is left is to try and do something worthwhile with them, this time.

To build something up, instead of tearing it down.

***

There are hands, Cullen’s hands, moving slowly, gently, an unexpected tremble in the tips of broad strong fingers, finding the edge of a jacket, pulling him close, breath struggling and words stumbling until Sebastian interrupts, places his palms heavy against the backs of Cullen’s hands, waits for them to still, and only then, finally, when Cullen’s breathing eases, does Sebastian finally cross the hint of space between them, does he let his hands lift to touch that face, those hands so hot against the line of his jaw as they lean together and kiss, at last, the sweet slight brush of lips only hinting at the heat building between them.

Cullen seems almost stunned, lost in the taste of another’s mouth, as if it had never occurred to him that this could happen, that they could both want, both need, both desire.

That they could both care for each other, beyond the work they did each day.

That he might, for just a little while, not have to be alone.

It is sweeter than any dream, hotter than any fantasy, better than he had ever dared to hope.

And it is only the beginning.

***

There are hands, fingers wrapped together, the slightest of tugs encouraging, leading, until feet move, until strides match, until they make it past hallways and stairs and doors, retreating from the outside world until they may close the bedroom door behind them.

It has been a long time, but Sebastian remembers, remembers the way heat beats beneath the skin, the way breath catches and slides free again, the way the loss of each additional piece of armor or clothing is a revelation, a gift, something at last worth savoring.

Cullen’s body is broad, and hard, and strong, and his hands clench, gripping tight to the sheet beneath him, when Sebastian touches him.

Sebastian can’t get enough of touching him, heavy muscles almost trembling against his lips and fingers, heavy breathing loud in the darkness as he slowly works his way up Cullen’s body, until he lets most of his weight settle across Cullen’s chest, and finds Cullen’s lips with his own.

Cullen groans into his mouth, the hum of his voice followed by the push of his tongue, and it is Sebastian’s turn to grip, to clench, as Cullen rolls him over, and takes his own survey, knuckles dragging down Sebastian’s skin, fingers finding scars, the slightest nip of teeth against the jut of a hip bone making Sebastian gasp, his back curve as he lifts off the bed.

They kiss again,  _again,_ until their muscles tremble and their skin is scalding hot, and Cullen is dizzy, falling, he lands on his back, legs spread as Sebastian kneels between his thighs.  His chin lifts and his eyes close, a groan rumbling deep in his chest when Sebastian leans forward, adjusting his weight until their cocks brush together.

He rolls his hips, and Cullen jerks, and he does it again, to hear Cullen gasp, and again, until at last Cullen’s lips part, and he whispers Sebastian’s name.

Sebastian uses his hand then, as well, hot skin and hard cocks and the shift of his salve-slick fingers, pulling, sliding, rubbing, the steady roll of his hips pushing them together, tension building ‘til he feels the ache in his chest, the pressure in his balls, until he’s begging, whispering Cullen’s name over and over, and it’s only when Cullen finally lets go, a shudder of stomach and thighs and a lift of hips and the hot spill of his release on Sebastian’s fingers, all at once, and it is the shaking groan of his voice that is the final push,  _too much_ , just enough, and Sebastian comes as well, his hand sliding and his eyes rolling back and his body a taut curve through the air as he loses himself as well.

Cullen won’t let him go, not even as far as the basin under the window, pulls him down beside him, the mess of their mutual pleasure cooling against their skin.  He kisses him, as if the very thought is new, impossible.

As if he is afraid it is just a dream, and he will wake up at any moment.

Sebastian lets himself laugh, low and slow, kisses him back, touches his jaw, his hair, even indulges himself enough to kiss Cullen’s nose.

It is dark, in what is now their bed, but not so dark he cannot see the shift as Cullen goes slightly cross-eyed, as if trying to see what could possibly have been so tempting at the tip of his nose.

"I am yours, messere Knight," Sebastian whispers at last.  "I am not going anywhere, unless you are the one to send me."

Cullen shakes his head, as if he cannot quite believe it, his hands gripping tight around Sebastian’s shoulders, then hips, until they are pressed together, the whole long length of chest and hips and legs, and he tucks his face even closer, breath hot against Sebastian’s neck.  

"I will never send you away, unless you ask."


	32. UGLY HOLIDAY SWEATERS, Nathaniel, Sigrun, Velanna,

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> this is [Erika's](http://whyswhoswhats.tumblr.com) fault. not mine. nope. *whistles*

"What." For a quiet utterance, Velanna’s distaste was painfully clear, positively echoing through the room.

Nathaniel couldn’t quite even manage a  _what,_  staring into his own box, feeling his eyebrow lift.

It was red and green and white, and had someone put a copper thread in there to make it sparkle?

He didn’t want to sparkle.

Even Sigrun wasn’t laughing, her head tilted to the side, and something white caught the light inside her gift.

_At least it’s not just me?_

"Is this some dwarven thing I do not understand?" Nathaniel leaned over to whisper towards Sigrun, taking the opportunity to catch a glimpse of a riotous rainbow of cabled knitting with what looked like bits of silver to make her sweater shine.

The silver was in a braid that would go right over her breasts, once she was wearing it.

He wasn’t sure if that made it better or worse?  

"Ancestors,  _no,_ _"_ Sigrun breathed out slowly.  Her head tilted in the other direction, as if somehow a different angle would make it make more sense.  ”It must be something Orlesian?”

"Humans have even ruined the  _durgen’len_.”  Velanna’s eyes narrowed, and she dropped her box to the floor.  ”I am not wearing that.”

"Good luck with that one."  Nathaniel sighed.  "I have yet to see anyone resist our fearless leader when she had her heart set on something."

Velanna snorted. Softly. And then her shoulders fell as she echoed Nathaniel’s sigh.  

"Cheer up."  Sigrun shrugged.  "At least they’re all equally horrid.  Shall we go see what she gave everyone else?  Maybe Oghren’s is even  _worse._ ”


	33. Carver/Merrill, warmth

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> for [fragilespark](http://tmblr.co/m-IUlQ7Kg4Sh-_LC8uH8SwA)

He's surprised, the first time he goes to visit at the Alienage, _just to see if she's settling in, nothing serious, of course it doesn't mean anything_ , to see a basket by her chair, needles sticking out of a ball of yarn.

It reminds him of Bethany, of the way she used to sit so quietly during the winter, laughing silently at his terrible jokes as she made everyone new socks, and he can feel his throat go tight and he hates himself even as his voice thins and he leaves again, without even tasting the tea Merrill made him.

The next time it's not such a surprise, so he pretends to ignore the basket, though he finds himself staring at it more than once.  It's the one little corner of her house (besides the mirror, of course), that's clean and neat, not even a hint of dust. That chair, a small footstool, a little table just the right height for a mug of tea, and the basket of smartly wound yarn in several colours, greys and blues and even a dark brown that reminds him of Bethany's eyes.

He doesn't go back again, equally afraid of seeing whatever Merrill makes of that yarn, and never knowing what becomes of it at all.

Just like Bethany, abandoned to the dust and the Blight.

But the weather turns, and while nothing like a proper Ferelden winter the wind is still  _cold_ , and the air is dank, and he remembers how draughty her home was in the summer, so he finds himself at the Alienage again, with a load of firewood.

Just in case.

All of which she promptly gives to a different family entirely, but her whole face lights up and her laugh fills the air, and he can not regret the effort.

She drags him inside, out of the wind, and offers him tea again, and this time he manages to pay attention to her, the lilt of her voice and each graceful shift of her fingers, and he is surprised, when he pauses over an empty mug, to realize it is suddenly almost dusk.

"Oh!" She seems equally startled, and stands up sharply enough her chair wobbles.  "You should go before nightfall, my neighbors could get in trouble, if you're here after dark."

She takes his mug, and he's almost at the door before he realizes he's even standing up, and just before the door closes behind him there's something soft in his hands.  

"Keep yourself warm, Carver, it gets cold out there."

And he stands outside her door, blinking even as the sky above him turns gold and red and pink, the setting sun lighting up all the low hanging clouds from the Foundries, his fingers warm despite the chill because he's holding a bundle of warm brown wool.

He blinks again,  _and no he is not tearing up it's just cold out here, blasted wind,_ and shakes out the bundle, sniffing against the chill gusts as it unwraps into a scarf.

He pulls it up to his face, taking one deep breath,  _it smells like wool and elfroot and leather,_ before he wraps it around his neck.

And if anyone notices the flush across his cheeks, of course it's just the wind.


	34. Gorim/Lady Aeducan, Dearest One

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> for [breadedsinner](http://breadedsinner.tumblr.com)

He had thought that hurried embrace, a kiss framed by steel bars and regret, was the last.  His last memory, his last chance, his last failure.

But after they'd pushed him up past the Hall of Paragons, out of the Stone until he thought he'd be blinded by the Surfacer's Sky, he found the Wardens.

And he remembered Commander Duncan.

And he had nothing left to lose.

So he told them where he thought she'd be, where they would have abandoned her, alone in the Dark, and he settled himself in the midst of their Camp to wait, as they finished their last trip into the Deep.

She was too pale, too thin, her gear cheap and shoddy in comparison, her eyes downcast and blinking from the light, but still,  _but still,_  when they returned with her he could tell, in every step she was his Lady.

When she saw him she stopped, and he thought he saw the gleam of tears, too thick to be from the damnable Sky, though she blinked them away even as he stepped forward, and lifted her chin, and managed something that was almost a smile.

But here, at last, he could admit that nothing else mattered, not his Honor or her Name, and instead of a formal bow, he wrapped his arms around her, and he could feel the barest tremble cross her shoulders as she let her head rest against his.

"Oh, my Gorim," she whispered, "I didn't think I'd ever see you again."

He tilted his head just enough to kiss her cheek.  "You'll never lose sight of me again, if I can help it."

She laughed, and by the Stone below he'd never heard so beautiful a sound, as the way her laugh carried through the Surface air.


	35. Bethany/Teagan, romantic kiss

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> for commandercousland

It took a few visits, watching the way he bowed over hands and smiled at jokes and was better at charming the servants than the nobles, before she realized he treated her differently than anyone else.

His voice was quieter, his smile softer.

She didn’t know whether to laugh or cry when she realized he was courting her.

_Her._

An apostate, and a Grey Warden, and her heart ached for everything that would never be.

But still, she found herself looking forward to the next time she would see him.

And when she tried to dodge his latest compliment, his fingers brushed against her chin, and she lifted her eyes to his, and realized it was much too late for either of them to pretend.  She lifted her face to him, even as he bowed down to her, and that first brush of his lips was as sweet as every dream she thought she’d lost.


	36. Merrill/Nate, expectations

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> leahazel prompted [Merrill/Nate](http://faejilly.tumblr.com/post/82045858930), no qualifiers, no explanations. And I'm rather fond of post-game-Warden!Merrill, because I like the idea she finally finds a place where she can belong, so it worked surprisingly well for me. :D

He’d expected her to be sharp-edged and deadly.  Dalish and blood mage, what else could she be, this erstwhile recruit who’d washed up into the Warden’s care after Kirkwall’s implosion?  Who’d suffered loss of kin and clan and city?

Delighted to laugh at him was well outside all his considerations.

There was anger there, clearly, at everything her people had lost, were losing, but it wasn’t a weapon the way it had been with Velanna, rather a motivation, a drive forward; the energy that powered every brutal spell.

But once the darkspawn were dead, it sunk somewhere deep inside her, nothing more than a shadow behind her eyes, as she asked about his bow, and the Keep, and the Wardens, and Herron and Wade and if they’d make her armor without boots, and she was worse than _Sigrun,_ more questions, more smiles, endlessly shining eyes, and he hadn’t ever thought that was possible.

Her anger wasn’t personal, no matter how much she’d personally seen fall to Taint or flame.

He envied her that.

She, as far as he could tell, envied no one anything.

Except perhaps his  _height._  He caught her climbing the cabinets in the kitchens and pantries more than once, in search of a bit of food, or seed, or supply of some sort hidden on a too high shelf.

It turned into a bit of a game, eventually, how high she could climb, how quickly she could find something, how easily he would catch her, when she leapt down again.

_Or not so very far down at all_ , she murmured one night against his neck, fingers delicately tracing the seams of his sleeves, the slightest tickle through the cloth, and he found himself answering her, soft and low, sincerity making his attempt at gallantry move slowly past his lips, and onto hers, a kiss of breath before their first kiss of lips.

_I will be honored to catch you, no matter how high you climb._


	37. one plus one, Bethany & Carver

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A _make me choose_ [prompt](http://faejilly.tumblr.com/post/83636753448) from [cheesiestart](http://cheesiestart.tumblr.com).

At five, they were the same height, prone to skinned knees and tangled hair and grass-stained clothes, as almost every game ended in an argument, and one of them getting shoved into the dirt.

Or occasionally the pond.

Which was where Carver found the  _frogs._

She slipped extra pepper in his soup in revenge.

He stuck her shoes outside overnight to get rained on.

In some ways, nailing her braid to the bed was easier to clean up, all those years later, than soaked and stained leather that next morning.

* * *

 

At ten, she was taller than him, coltish in the way most young girls were, awkward and shy, hands twisted behind her back as if she could hold in the unexpected shock of magic just beginning to spark between her fingers.

He was the only one who she would let hold her hand.

* * *

 

At fifteen, he shot up almost two heads taller than her, shoulders too thin yet to support all that height, wrist and ankles too broad, sticking out of all his clothes, no matter how recently their mother had tried to let them out.

His voice would crack, any time someone teased him, until Bethany was the only one he bothered to talk to at all.

The only one who could laugh, and make him smile, instead of hunching down tight, as if trying to hide behind his own scowl.

* * *

 

At eighteen, for the first and last time, they no longer stood together, side to side or back to back, but had to face the future alone.


	38. "free as a gull" Isabela

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> [the ever lovely chignonesque](http://faejilly.tumblr.com/post/92574315792) prompted "Kirkwall or Starkhaven" for a make me choose me ... and I refused to pick. The Free Marches are terrible. Not sure why anyone stays. ;)

Isabela woke up in the middle of the night, and felt the shift of the waves beneath her, and she smiled.

She slipped out of bed, quiet and slow, and smiled again as the sound of heavy breathing never shifted a bit, contended and safe enough to finally sleep well, and true, and deep.  Not even a catch of breath as she opened the door of her cabin, and latched it quietly again behind her.

The air was cool, and clear, her crew settled quietly enough at their duties that she could just enjoy herself for a moment, or two.  She climbed up to her favorite perch in the rigging, and tilted her head back, and breathed.

The stars were perfect.  Endless and bright and scattered, as they only were far out to sea.  All she could smell was rope and brine and the slightest hint of tar and varnish, still lingering around the wood of railings and mast and deck.

She closed her eyes, and shifted the grip of fingers and toes, and let the night pass by around her.

Free as a gull, and infinitely prettier.


	39. F!Mahariel/Zevran, rain and surprises

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> These are two separate prompts, widely spaced apart on tumblr, but they're both about the same duo, so I combined them.

for [bladeofmercy](http://bladeofmercy.tumblr.com) "a kiss in the rain"

* * *

The rain is cold.   _Everything_  is cold, and muddy, and did he mention cold? 

He ducks his head further down into his collar, shrugs his shoulders as if that will somehow stop his hood from slithering off again.

It doesn’t.

He’s not sure if he should bother trying again, at this point, rain caught in his ears and his hair and he misses sunlight.

And decent food.

And wine.

There’s a gentle tug on his sleeve, and he slants a look sideways, to see the hint of her secretive smile, her eyes as dark as the sky but endlessly warmer.

Even as he looks at her, she leans closer, and while cooler than usual her lips are still warmer than the rain as they kiss his temple, right at the tip of his tattoo.

He grins, and returns the gesture, a brief kiss of his own right between her brows, where the lines of her  _vallaslin_  cross, thin and delicate and complex.

Rather like her, really, and she is ever so pretty, a few loose strands of hair plastered to her neck, dark and curling and damp, and he considers all the ways he can attempt to warm her up this evening.

Perhaps rain isn’t so very terrible after all.

 

* * *

for [emby](http://spiritofemby.tumblr.com/): "one night stand and falling pregnant AU" (I also made it a modern AU, 'cause I wasn't quite sure how I'd want to do a singular fling and a pregnancy within the context of the game and the Blight.)

* * *

 

“ _Cara mia_ , what a pleasant surprise!” He smiles, and waves her inside, and pretends he doesn’t feel the truth behind the greeting like a twist in his stomach.  _My heart, to see you again._

She doesn’t smile back. There is no sharp laughter at his excessive charm, no wry comment at the terrible clashing colors of his haphazard collection of pillows scattered across couch and chair and floor.

She sits on the couch, almost a sigh, a hint of a line between her brows, and he doesn’t think he’s ever seen the grey of her eyes this particular shade, so dark they’re almost washed in green, like the worst sort of storm clouds.

"What’s wrong, ‘Ariel?" The nickname slides free before he even thinks about it, and her eyes close, and she looks almost fragile, almost small, almost like someone he’s never met, someone whose skin he’s never tasted, whose voice he’s never swallowed as pleasure and kisses heated them both ‘til they were afraid they’d burn, ‘til there was nothing left of either of them.

Not that he’d seen her since then.

Not that he’d expected to, of course.

Not that he’s sorry.

So he waits.

Her mouth twists, bitter and tight and unfamiliar, and she opens her eyes.

She stands up again, shaking her head.

She walks back towards the door. He trails behind her, worried now, words falling from his mouth that neither of them are listening to, endearments and murmurs and meaningless questions, and all the while he watches her eyes, watches that line, sharp and tight between her brows. _  
_

Her hand rests on the door-knob, and that twist in his gut snarls even tighter, but he doesn’t know what it is, what to say. 

"I’m pregnant."

He stops talking.

He may have stopped breathing.

He’d been so careful.

He was always careful.

She was always so very careful.

"I’m keeping it. I don’t, expect, that is." She takes a breath, shoots a glare at him sharp enough he pays attention, for once, and keeps his mouth shut. "You don’t have to do anything, we’re fine, but it’s yours, and I thought you should know."

He takes a step, but she shakes her head, quick and brusque this time, and she’s gone before he can follow.

He blinks, and reaches out to let his fingers rest against the knob, the warmth of her hand already fading, and there’s something beneath his toes.

He picks up the card, her business card, a second number scrawled across the back, barely legible.

He swallows, and closes his eyes, and wonders if he’s smiling.

_Cara mia._


	40. Kitten (Merrill/Isabela, NSFW)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> [for sept](http://faejilly.tumblr.com/post/111038979908)

Kitten has  _claws,_  knows just how to use them, sharp points in shoulders, almost pain scraping across nipples, or hips, pulling on hair to curve a neck into just the right place to nip, her teeth as bright and merciless as her eyes.

She likes to lick, quick little laps, teasing and infuriating and perfect. She catches the slightest shift of moment, a clench of fingers or a lifted breath, and pounces, all sharp heat and nimble fingers and a purr of breath murmured against hot skin.

As she gasps, and feels her breath shudder in her chest, Isabela wonders at her own brilliance, at such a perfect nickname.


	41. sparring, Fenris/F!Hawke

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "forceful kiss" prompted by [elfgirl931](http://elfgirl931.tumblr.com/)

They’d been sparring, blade to staff,  _no magic, that’s cheating,_  though obviously he was taking it easy on her, doing something perilously close to the mirror dances she’d seen him do by himself and letting her staff tap against his steel.  But still.  Better than working alone.

She could feel it in her arms, the very first beginnings of an ache, and she lifted her staff to a holding position, waiting until Fenris nodded and relaxed his sword before she braced it on the ground, rolling her shoulders to ease the muscles. 

They both stepped in the same direction to leave the stretch of dirt that served her as practice yard, and she could smell him, sweat warming his brands, a tang in the air, and she had to close her eyes and swallow a sudden urge to hum along with the whisper of lyrium-echo beneath her skin.

She opened them again when the hum lifted in pitch, just before his fingers gripped her chin, tilting her face to meet his lips.

She did hum then, pleasure and surprise at the firm press of his mouth, the line of his body next to hers, even hotter than the sun caught in her hair.

"Hmm?" She managed when he stopped, rather at a loss for anything more coherent as she blinked at him.  

He shrugged, a lift of his brow and a curve of his lips; if he’d been a little paler she rather thought he might have been blushing. “Seemed a good idea?"

"Excellent one, yes."


End file.
